Smashed Steel: A Steamy Stand Alone Sports Romance (Steel Crew Book 7)

by Mj Fields

  “Oh, you will.” She laughs. “But not until I’m feeling that seven-year itch they warn about.”

  “If,” I tell her. “If you feel it. I’m hopeful J.R.’s the real deal.”

  She hugs me again. “And I’m hoping you can at least get your lady bits rocked before it’s been so long you shrivel up inside altogether and decide men hold absolutely no value.” She steps back and grabs my shoulders. “Don’t you dare let one bad apple spoil the bunch. Your guy is out there, Ellis. You just have to allow yourself to be vulnerable again.”

  Before I have time to remind her of the kind of balls and strength it took for me to mother an infant my senior year in college, graduate third at UNC, and then turning around, move from North Carolina to New York City—with a baby—and slam the doctorate program in Physical Therapy, graduating first in my class, the blond with the cowboy hat walks straight up to me, grabs my hand, kisses the back, and then leads me to a chair near the center of the now empty space.

  I glance around and see that the furniture has been moved. There is now a wide-open space in the middle of the VIP section and one chair directly in the center.

  “Have a seat, darlin’.”

  Glaring at Tonya, I remind myself that this is for Lily, and I allow him to take me to the chair where I sit and fix the sash of lies. I watch as the crew of stripper hotties—I mean, tormentors—huddle together, and my anxiety, embarrassment, and all around WTF am I doing! kind of shock swims in my head. I grip the seat to stop myself from giving in to the overwhelming desire to run.

  The girls all take a seat on the couches around the parameter, looking at me like they wish they were me.

  Be my freaking guest, I think as I glare at them all, one by one.

  “This is not how I expected the night to go, Lily,” I scold her sternly as I take the shot she’s offering me then look at her sister. “Five? Fucking five?”

  Lily gives me a sloppy grin. “Your lucky night.”

  When the club music changes to the only song I have recognized all night, “Candy Shop” by 50 Cent, I wish with everything that I am that I could shrink like Ant-Man and scurry away unseen.

  When I hear Lily and the girls hoot and howl, I slide down farther into the seat as the guys break their huddle and line up. Five asses face us, five sets of narrow hips swaying left then right to the beat of the music, they all take their shirts off and throw them on the floor as they turn and … fuck me dead, every one of them is built like Greek statues, and being Greek, I’m a fan.

  The man farthest to the right and the one farthest to the left do a front handspring and land on their feet. I am no longer disgusted. I’m entranced by the physicality and skill they just displayed.

  The one on the left, the most dangerous of all, his eyes roam over me, as mine do the same to him. The shit-ass smirk, the way he thrusts his hips and moves his ass, it reminds me of exactly what I have been missing for almost five years.

  Five years ago, when I was a totally different person.

  I should celebrate the fact that my nipples are peaked, and my sleeping libido seems to be waking.

  His ink, black and stunning.

  Out of my peripheral, I watch them all disperse, except Cowboy and the one who, in my young and more foolish days, I would have picked for my poison. He turns his plain black baseball hat backward, holds one arm out as he rolls his abs, his hips, and thrusts the air to the beat of the music.

  Exactly what I would have gone for.

  When Cowboy starts toward me, my picked poison holds his arm out, stopping him, and shakes his head.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck, I think as he moves toward me then straddles the chair and grinds above me. His body doesn’t touch me, but he grabs my hand and runs it slowly up the hard ridges of his muscular abs until it’s on his chest. He smells insanely good, like soap, man, and a faint leather musk.

  I’m buzzed and fucked. More eloquently stated: I’m completely entranced and the iceberg inside of me is melting.

  He lets go of my hand and grabs the back of the chair, one hand on each side of my head. Then he leans down, and I feel the softness of his stubble and heat of his breath before he speaks. “The bride, huh?”

  I don’t answer him. I hate lies. Plus, his voice—deep, lusty, and hot as hell—is seriously making my ears tingle.

  He chuckles as he continues fucking the air above me. “Gonna call bullshit. You’re the only one up here without a ring.” He leans back and looks down at me. “I respect that.”

  Still, I say nothing, because I have nothing nice to say … and also nothing appropriate. I’m getting a fucking lap dance and he’s talking about respect? And it’s not like I’m going to say, I can tell you take excellent care of your body. I respect that you decided to give up on whatever dreams you had and became a stripper.

  Except I did say it … out loud … and to him.

  He tosses his head back in laughter.

  “Oh my God!” I gasp. “That was totally inappropriate. I’m so—”

  “Buzzed, drunk, or maybe just brutally honest?” he interrupts, still laughing.

  “Buzzed and brutally honest comes from—”

  I snap my jaw shut when he shoves his hands under my ass and lifts me as if I weigh nothing, which is not the case at freaking all.

  I grab his shoulders so that I don’t fall. Squeezing them, I moan, “My God, your shoulders are insane.”

  “Your ass is rock solid, Sweets.” He runs his hand down the back of my leg, grips the back of my knee, and then hitches it around his waist. “Legs thick as fuck.” He grabs the back of my other and does the same.

  “Yeah. well—”

  When I am wrapped around him like a koala bear, he slides his hand up my ass, my back, and then grips the back of my neck. “Hold tight, Sweets.” He squats and leans forward, laying me on my back. “I can tell you take excellent care of your body. So fucking thick and tight. I respect that so much I didn’t squeeze that ass when I want to make a meal out of it.”

  He’s tossing the words I vomited back at me, but … “Make a meal?”

  Elbows beside my head, his full lips in a cocky smirk an inch from mine, he says, “Sweets, you’re hot as hell. I’m hot as hell. But out of respect for what you’re doing for your friend, and for a woman who takes killer care of herself, I didn’t grope you. But when this is done, I’m gonna use every weapon in my arsenal to get you out of your head as well as out of this dress.”

  “You want brutal honesty?”

  “Demand it.”

  “I would never have sex with a stripper.”

  Grinning, he says, “I’m not a stripper, Sweets. Your guy didn’t show up. When your girl all but begged my boys to fill in, they decided it would be fun. I came along for the ride.”

  He flips us over so I’m on top of him, our bodies now actually touching, and good Lord, it feels so good.

  Keeping my tone as even as possible, I say, “I call bullsh—”

  He sits up, and we’re nose to nose.

  “Tell me you don’t want one night, no strings, no clothes, with me.”

  I shake my head in the negative as he pulls me tight, lifts me, and then places me back on the chair, right where he took me from, as the song ends.

  Unscathed. He returned me unscathed.

  Leaning in close to my ear, he says softly, “When you change your mind, Sweets, and you will change your mind, I’ll be at the bar waiting. You don’t show, I’m out of here in fifteen minutes. You do show, you and I are gonna have one helluva time.” Then he steps back and turns, giving me an amazing view of his ass as he walks away, bends over—another amazing ass shot—grabs his shirt and puts it on.

  I sit here, buzzed, stunned, and turned on as all five men walk toward the stairway and disappear down the stairs.

  Afterparty

  After the guys exit, I eavesdrop and find out that his story was true. Honestly, I didn’t doubt it; he just didn’t seem like the kind of guy who needed to lie to get laid. On t
op of that, he left it in my lap, so to speak. The stripper Tonya hired didn’t show up, and she convinced a group of guys to come up, which is why they stayed dressed from the waist down.

  I lean down and see them all at the bar. HB, for hot bod, as I now am trying to convince myself is all I need, lifts a glass to me, and I grin. Yep, I freaking grin.

  After telling Lily what just went down, begging her to talk me out of it, knowing damn well she wouldn’t, a very long hug—this time provoked by me—and a promise from Lily that she would tell the girls I went back to the room because I was not feeling well, I head down the stairs.

  I make my way through the packed club toward the bar, and as I get closer, I see a swarm of beautiful, tall, thin women wearing clothes … beautiful fucking clothes and shoes that they absolutely belong in. They surround the guys whose insane attractiveness and confidence match the women’s. The kind of attractiveness and confidence that only comes with a type of privilege afforded by being born to those who hold you up and not weigh you down. To a privilege of a life where you haven’t had your hopes and dreams crushed repeatedly. To a privilege that comes with not having to always do it alone.

  And here I am, the drunk girl feeling sorry for herself, which is why I don’t have more than three drinks … ever. I hate the place alcohol drags me.

  As fast as I talked myself into what would have been a hook-up, I decide against it. It no longer feels like a no-nonsense, no strings, no big deal kind of thing. Not if my old insecurities are coming back, insecurities I can’t afford to allow back into my head. I’m a mother, for God’s sake.

  When I turn to walk away, I smash my nose against a wall of solid muscle, inhale the all-too-familiar scent of hot bod, and step back—well, stumble. I totally stumbled back as tears fill my eyes from the impact.

  With a smile, he grabs my elbows and steadies me. Then HB squats down to my height, a good foot lower, and looks me in the eyes. “Ouch. You okay, Sweets?”

  I pull away and laugh as tears hang in my eyes. “I’m fine.”

  “Little bad ass, smoking hot and a killer laugh.” He takes my hand, leans in, his whiskers tickling my face, and whispers, “You get any hotter, I’m not gonna last two minutes.”

  Two minutes of this man is probably more than I can handle.

  I shake my head. “I think this is a bad idea.”

  He winks. “Nothing truly orgasmic ever started with a well-thought-out plan.”

  Four floors and four doors, that sexy confident wink rendered me stupid, completely and totally stupid for four floors and four doors.

  “Key, Sweets?”

  I zip open my tiny, little crossbody, a bag that carries nothing but a phone, lipstick—if you’re the lipstick type—some cash, and of course … “Tada.” I pull out the card and hand it to him.

  “Tada,” he mimics my ridiculous statement in a seriously adorable way, swipes the key card, and then opens the door.

  I stand and watch him walk in. Namely, I watch his ass as he walks in. Lord, his ass is amazing. Totally. Fucking. Amazing.

  He turns and looks back at me. “Your room, Sweets; you don’t need an invitation.”

  “Right.” I nod, step in, shut the door behind me, and then turn to see him taking his shirt off. I look down and see his sneakers already off, too.

  “Sweets”—he unbuttons his pants, pulls his phone out of his pocket, and taps the screen a few times before setting it on the nightstand. “I’m going to need you naked. My ride will be here in an hour and I plan to spend at least fifty-five minutes all over you.”

  I’m going to assume no one in his life has ever accused him of mincing words.

  I slowly step out of one shoe, then the next, and stand here like an idiot. I have no idea what to do next.

  I’m buzzed, but not buzzed enough that I’m not thinking clearly. In fact, I’m sure if I were sober and thinking the same thought I am right now, fifty-five minutes is a hell of a lot of time. I didn’t last a full song while he was playing stripper before I started to burn. The desire he entices is near paralyzing.

  Unbuttoning his pants, he looks at me, his eyes heavy and filled with lust. “Sweets, you sure you want to do this?”

  I swallow hard and nod. “Of course I’m sure. Are you?”

  He hooks his thumbs in his waistband, pushing down his dark denim jeans. My center tightens, and my nipples harden at the sight of his impressive length, hard and ready beneath his black boxers.

  He cocks his head to the side as he looks at me. “You need some help getting out of that dress?”

  Before I have a chance to answer, he moves behind me, grips the zipper and pulls it down. I feel him unclasp my strapless bra, my heavy breasts falling slightly, as he presses his lips against my shoulder, causing my back to arch and a moan to escape.

  “Sorry,” I whisper.

  “Don’t you dare apologize for being turned on. You’re not alone, Sweets, and when I’m inside you, I sure as fuck won’t apologize for a damn thing.”

  When I’m inside you? Oh my Lord, this is about to go down.

  “Do you have a condom?”

  “Of course.” He kisses my neck. “Now let’s get you out of this dress.”

  Get me out of this dress …

  Suddenly, I feel uncomfortable. I’m wearing spanks, for fuck’s sake. This man … this tall, dark, handsome, non-stripping stranger, this incredibly built, tall, dark, handsome non-stripping stranger is about to see my mom bod.

  “Um …” I have no idea what I was going to say. I’m not sure I could string all the thoughts swimming in my head together to make a cohesive, let alone sexy, sentence together if I tried.

  “Yeah, Sweets?”

  I turn and look up at him, my head tipped back, eyes glued to his. “Are they blue or green?”

  “Been told both, Sweets. Guess they change. Yours are definitely blue.” He slants his head to the side as he leans down, closing the distance between us before he crashes his lips against mine. His light stubble feels soft yet scratchy against my skin, and extremely sexy.

  He cups the sides of my face as I open my mouth, allowing his tongue to immediately enter. He tastes amazing, like whiskey and spice.

  Good Lord, how I’ve missed the feel of a man’s lips and the taste of one’s mouth.

  He skates his large, callused hands down my neck, down my shoulders, and moves them to my sides. Wasting no time, he hooks his fingers under the fabric and pulls it past my breasts. After that, the top of the dress falls but stops at my hips. Of course, it couldn’t be a sexy cascading fall to the floor like in the movies, because in the movies, the heroine almost never has hips and most definitely doesn’t have an ass as big as mine.

  I remove my hands from his traps, hook my thumbs inside the fabric of my dress, and start to shimmy it down.

  “Don’t you dare.” He falls to his knees, and on his knees, he’s eye level with my tits. I watch as his full, sexy lips surround my peaked nipple, and he sucks as he pushes away my hands, hooks his thumbs beneath the fabric, and pulls the dress past my hips and ass. Then, just like in the movies, the dress and my spanks fall softly to the floor.

  I grab his baseball cap and toss it to the floor before I knot my fingers into his sexy, silky, thick black waves as I whimper and arch my back, pushing my tits against his lips.

  I whimper as he bites down and tugs, my thighs clenching when a soft growl escapes him.

  “HB,” I breathe out.

  He looks up, his mouth full of me, eyes full of question, and slowly releases my breasts. “HB?”

  “Hot Bod. That’s you.”

  He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “My name’s—”

  “HB. And apparently, I’m Sweets. Let’s leave it at that.”

  He skates his hands up the back of my legs to my butt as he stands and lifts me up by my ass. Now I’m eye level with him.

  “Fuck, you have a great ass, hot body, and I can’t wait to be buried between your legs.”

 
My, how one filthy sentence, full of promise, can smash one’s insecurities into smithereens.

  “Sounds good to me.” I press my lips against his as he walks us to the king-sized bed in the center of the room.

  As soon as my back hits the bed, HB is all over me, and I’m all over him. I can’t get enough of his kisses. I can’t get enough of the feel of his skin against mine.

  Hooking my thumbs beneath the waistband of his black boxer briefs, I begin to rid him of his clothing as he did mine. The feel of his hands on the sides of my breasts … his mouth surrounding my nipple, him squeezing my other tit as he grabs me behind the knee and wraps my leg around his trim waist.

  I glide my hand down his hard, muscular back; velvet-soft skin covering steel. He grinds his hips against me, and I feel the heat of his massive length against my core.

  “Dear Lord,” I whimper as he tugs, nips, and sucks on one nipple then the next.

  “Can’t get enough of your tits, Sweets,” he groans.

  “Condom. I need you inside of me. Condom,” I beg as he nudges my opening with what feels like a massive tip, crowning a huge cock.

  “Fuck, Sweets. Sorry, my bad. You’re making me lose my mind.”

  His elbows are now on each side of my head, his lips hard against mine. He’s kissing me with the same amount of desire and hunger I feel for him.

  Against my lips, he growls, “You’re so beautiful, so hot. Let’s make sure you’re wet enough to take what I am dying to give you.”

  I move my mouth from his lips to his jaw, kissing and licking the soft stubble. Then I move to his ear, nipping his earlobe, eliciting another sexy growl.

  Tasting HB, smelling him, touching him, feeling the weight of his hard, muscular body against my naked one makes me feel sexier than I have ever felt in my entire life. So sexy in fact that I no longer care that, half an hour ago, I didn’t even know he existed.

  He slides his hand down my body, gripping and kneading my flesh. At my hips, he moves horizontally, and I feel his fingers parting me, curving inside of me, seeking my pleasure spot. He doesn’t need a map. No, HB’s clearly skilled. I have definitely chosen the right man to get me over my slump.